Red and Gold
by humbirdbum
Summary: McKinley High has two parking lots.


Pairing: Quinn/Rachel  
>Rating: PG, warnings for femslash<br>Spoilers: Original Song 02x16  
>Disclaimer: I do not own Glee; I just play with the characters<br>Summary: McKinley High has two parking lots.  
>AN: Hi guys. This one's kinda sad. Sort of a follow-up to the infamous _piano scene_. Lets face it, it was really hard not to get inspiration from that. Hopefully, my version of events is interesting enough.  
>Kudos to <strong>crimsonrosepetals <strong> and **freshtilapia **for beta-ing. You guys rock.

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><p><strong>RED AND GOLD<strong>

McKinley High has two parking lots. And just like everything else in the school, they have everything to do with status.

The east lot is at the front of the campus. It's near the gym and the football field, so naturally it's where all the cheerleaders and jocks park their cars. The kids who are deemed cool enough tend to hang out there in the mornings – swapping stories and breakfast and homework – before heading to first period. The ground is smoothly paved asphalt, edged by neatly trimmed bushes. Even the dumpsters look nice.

The west lot is located, appropriately, opposite of the east lot and behind the school. It's bordered by a wire fence that has definitely seen better days. The ground is uneven, comprised of earth and gravel (mostly earth really, which makes it a real pain when the rains come around). The dumpsters smell of dried urine. _And_ it's next to the wing of the school that houses the library, the AV room, and the choir hall; yeah, no prizes for guessing who normally parks there.

Honestly, you think it's absurd. Like mostly everything else in Lima.

One thing about Lima though? It has really, really great sunsets. And one thing about McKinley's west parking lot? It has a really, really great view of those sunsets.

So, this is where you find yourself, perched on top of the only remaining car, watching the sky slowly bleed those breathtaking shades of red and gold. You like sunsets. They remind you that no matter how much goes wrong in the world, there are some things that will always be _amazing_, and _pure_, and _beautiful_.

You especially need that reminder today. Even though it's been a good day, so far.

Well, no, because there's no way that _today_ could be anything but dreadful. However, it's almost over and you've actually managed to get through most of it without having to talk to anyone. Which is pretty much as good as it can get. All you need to do now is wait a little longer until you know your mother has left the house for her weekly book club meeting, and then you can go home and continue to spend the rest of it alone, in peace, and—

"Quinn, may I ask what you're doing on top of my car?"

Okay, you really should have known that the Mini was _hers_, that the only person (other than you) who would (willingly) be at school this late is Rachel Berry.

It also figures she would catch you on the one day you needed her not to.

"Nothing." you say, only glancing at her through your peripheral vision. She looks like she's resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

"You weren't at school today." she says instead.

"No, I wasn't."

She hesitates. And you know she's not hesitating because you're being short with her. She's too used to that. She's hesitating because—

"It's Beth's birthday today."

Even though you braced yourself for it, the sentence still knocks the wind straight out of you. "Yeah," you say, slowly, gritting your teeth, "Yeah, it is."

"I sent her a card. Well, I mean, sort of. I sent Shelby a card."

You turn your head to finally look at her properly. She shrugs, and smiles this sad, knowing smile.

This day is _almost_ as bad for her as it is for you. The only reason it is not is because she's _Rachel Berry_, and she's amazing, and pure, and—

"So when did you get a car?" Deflect, deflect, deflect.

"My fathers got it for me last week as a congratulatory gift for winning regionals."

She places her bag in the backseat, and then proceeds to climb up onto roof beside you. The way she pushes you aside to make room is almost playful. She should be shouting at you to get the hell off her car.

"You're doing that thing again, you know? Where you're nice to people who don't deserve it."

"That's okay; tomorrow I'll go back to trying to steal Finn away from you."

She flashes a grin when you huff out a laugh; a rueful but real laugh.

"Yeah, I'd like to see you try." you retort.

Your tone holds no spite, so you're a little surprised when the air around the two of you suddenly shifts. She draws her legs up, hugging them to her chest, and lays her cheek against her knees. "I can't stop trying, Quinn." she says, voice quiet, one part apologetic but two parts determined. "Maybe you were right and maybe I'll never get it right. But I'm never going to stop trying, either. It's who I am."

You sigh. "I know, Rachel. I know." Her eyes meet yours for one weighted second, before you look away. "But he'll choose me. It's who _he_ is."

"What makes you so sure?" She isn't being defiant, only... curious.

You mimic her position, pulling your legs towards you and resting your chin on your knees as you continue to stare out towards the setting sun.

"Because I've seen it," You repress the shudder that wants to travel down your spine, "Guys like him… they're really sweet at first. Charmingly goofy. Kind and well-intentioned, even if they can be rather clueless. And sometimes they care just a bit too much about their popularity and their pride, which makes them do stupid, hurtful things, but mostly, they're sweet."

(You pause to take a deep breath.)

"Only, that caring-too-much-about-popularity thing? He'll never quite grow out of it. And he'll do stupider and more hurtful things. And then he won't be so sweet anymore. He'll start drinking when he realizes that he'll never get out of this dead-end place. He'll start blaming his wife for it – his wife who was once known as a smart, talented, pretty thing that spoke her mind, but who just gets quieter and quieter as the years go by. She'll start drinking too so she can ignore his liaisons with tattooed freaks."

You suddenly realize you'd kind of zoned out while talking because now your cheeks are wet and you don't know when you started crying.

She looks horrified. Plain horrified. Like she'd just watched a particularly gruesome episode of _Fear Factor_. That's good, you think. After all, your aim has been to make being with Finn as unappealing to her as eating roaches or jumping off a twenty-story building. (Whichever works better.)

"_Why?"_

The question startles you, both because it wasn't one you were expecting and because of the force with which she asks it. You blink. "I told you, it's who he is—"

"No, not _that,_ I meant _why _are you with him? If you truly believe that he's like that, that he's going become like that, why do even want him?" Her body is trembling now; an indicator of how emotional she's become. "Why are you fighting me for him?"

You swallow thickly. You can't answer that. You don't have the strength to lie, not _today_, not to _her_.

So, as smoothly as you can (which is, admittedly, pretty smooth), you slide down the rear windshield and hop off the trunk. Before you can make it any further though, you hear her feet land on the gravel and feel her hand on your shoulder.

You make sure not to make eye contact as she tugs you back around.

"Quinn," Her voice is soft, pleading, desperate, "You're convinced, as was made apparent in our last altercation, that you're going to end up staying in Lima. And let me just state for the record that I don't share that opinion. But, that aside, I thought you were also convinced that Finn would make you _happy_. Yet that is obviously _not_ the case, so why—"

You make the mistake of trying to glare at her to get her to stop. She does stop, but as far as glaring goes, you fail stupendously. Not only that, the moment her eyes look into yours, you know that she can _see—_

"You're scared."

You are. More so now than ever, because now she knows it.

And also because she's starting to look kind of pissed off.

"You berate me for trying too hard, trying too much, but you won't try _at all!_ I guess that's who you are then: a coward. And that being the case, just how do _you_ expect to ever get it right?"

It's déjà vu, only this time the roles are reversed and instead of a Baldwin piano it's a Mini hatchback.

Her fingers clench tightly over your sleeve. "I know you wanted Beth. Your mother was there, and she took you back, and things weren't perfect between you but she would have supported you and your daughter. Yet you gave her away. Why won't you fight for the things you _truly_ want?"

Her frustration has given way to confusion. She just doesn't understand. She doesn't understand because she's not like you. And that's the way it should be; she should never have to understand.

You smile.

"You're right. I'm a coward. I wasn't brought up not to be. And I couldn't bring up someone else not to be either." You place you hand over hers on your shoulder, and squeeze. "That's why I gave her to the mother of the bravest person I know."

Her eyes widen.

You've said too much. Honestly, why did she have to find you _today? _

Quickly, you pull out of her grasp and spin on your heels, taking advantage of her stunned silence to make your escape.

And you walk away.

The truth is that you've long stopped cursing yourself for being too scared to fight for the things you want. You decided that you would be brave enough to let them go instead. And really, giving up _your_ sunset so they can find _theirs_ takes more courage than you ever thought you had, because it _hurts. _But the fact that you manage somehow makes you happy (enough), because protecting them is the only thing you care about getting right.

So you turn your back on Rachel, and let your shadow lead you east.


End file.
